


Sure

by soft_science



Category: Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Eddie the Eagle (2016) RPF
Genre: First Time, Hugh Jackman is a pure cinnamon roll of a service top, M/M, Masturbation, Off-screen Colin Firth but it’s really minimal, Service Top, Slow Burn, just a slight sexuality crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_science/pseuds/soft_science
Summary: Here at the thirty-second mark of their acquaintance, Taron is sure that he deeply, deeply likes Hugh to the point of embarrassment.
Relationships: Taron Egerton/Hugh Jackman
Comments: 39
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here at the thirty-second mark of their acquaintance, Taron is sure that he deeply, deeply likes Hugh to the point of embarrassment.

Taron is visiting at his mum’s house when Matthew rings and asks him if he knows who Eddie is. 

“We’ve got this script we’re fixing it up. It could be exactly the right next thing for you.”

He doesn’t, in fact, know who Eddie the Eagle is, which is slightly horrifying because he already really wants to nail this. His mum passes through the kitchen at that moment and he grabs a pen, scratches a quick note and waves it at her - “EDDIE the EAGLE? ROLE? MATTHEW V!” Her eyes widen and she nods and gives a thumbs up. She also makes a sort of quizzical, funny face at him before ducking out of the room again, which he has trouble deciphering. Was she laughing? He puts Matthew on speaker and does a quick google.

“Ok,” he scrolls through the results. “That’s… a look,” he murmurs, but not unkindly. Eddie seems like a very sweet man.

“Mate, you can do handsome just by showing up.” Matthew isn’t a flatterer. He just has an eerily clear vision for the trajectory of Taron’s career, which Taron truly appreciates. “Debonair is easy for you. This one would prove your range.” 

It’s a good point, and he trusts Matthew’s sense of the business implicitly. He knows who Dexter Fletcher is. And he is pretty aware of Hugh Jackman, for fuck’s sake.

“So am I auditioning then?” Not that he would mind at all. He may have starred in a movie but he doesn’t feel like a movie star, and god knows Hugh Jackman would be the big name in this one between the two of them.

“No no, it’s a screen test. We’re not trying you out against anyone, we want both of you and we’re trying you out together. It’s to protect you, and everybody really, and just make sure things really work before we get started.”

“Oh. Well, that’s amazing actually. I mean, I’m in? I’m in.”

“Great.” Matthew doesn’t sound surprised. “Listen, I wouldn’t bring this to you unless I thought it was going to work beautifully. I’ll send you some pages and we’ll give it a try, eh?”

“Yeah, ok. Um, thank you? Very excited, Matthew.”

“This will be something special,” Matthew promises before he hangs up.

Taron looks at the picture of Eddie again and tries sticking his chin out a little.

***

It feels a bit like a blind date, Taron realizes on the day. He realizes this when he enters the Marv rehearsal space and comes face to face with Hugh Jackman for the first time.

Hugh is wearing a hoodie and dark jeans, and his handsomeness feels like an actual, tangible shape in the room. He’s taller than Taron imagined, broad shoulders, built like a mannequin, and he glows with this warm, ultra-famous-movie-star level of confidence. Taron feels like an absolute muffin in comparison. One of those small, dense ones that come in a flimsy cellophane wrapper in American convenience stores. He tells himself that it’s highly likely most men feel like this around Hugh Jackman, and refuses to let it bother him.

Hugh greets him with a very vigorous, very Australian handshake that turns into a one-armed hug. Unsurprisingly, he smells amazing. 

“Taron, excellent to meet you, mate!”

“Yeah, hello, lovely to meet you too,” Taron feels his voice doing the thing when he’s nervous and coping, where it flip flops from deep to high to deep again. He takes a deep breath to try to settle his nerves, and Hugh immediately notices.

“Good idea.” Hugh smiles and takes a deep breath in sync with him. “Have you done one of these before?” 

“Screen test?” Taron shakes his head. 

“It’s kind of like a blind date, I always think.” Hugh flashes him a wide, reassuring grin. “Let’s try to have fun and not overthink it, okay?” 

“Good idea.” He can feel himself mirroring Hugh’s smile and can’t wipe it off his face, even though he badly wants to be playing things so much cooler than this. Here at the thirty-second mark of their acquaintance, Taron is sure that he deeply, deeply likes Hugh to the point of embarrassment. 

Hugh claps him on the shoulder. “Great. Say, I loved you in Kingsman. Just awesome, man.”

“Thanks. I will not miss the training.”

“God, I feel you there. I’ve got a few months before I start up again. Let me know if you want to torture yourself with one of those actor discussions about protein supplements and core work, I’m great at those.”

Taron tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow in exaggerated interest. “Yeah I would love that, we can compare crash diets-”

“Mmm, yeah, describe our muscles to each other, really dig right into our deepest body insecurities-” Hugh nods.

And wow, Taron feels very seen. “Oh my god, yes, sign me up. Favorite part of the business.” 

This is a really nice surprise. He had honestly wondered if Hugh was going to maybe secretly be a slight prick, because of the weightlifting/wrestling/intense gym thing. But he appears to be a fairly normal person- or like if a normal person were also a stunningly fit dad.

“I did genuinely love you in Kingsman, you’re great. I just got this sense that there’s a lot of other things you’re good at, if that makes sense. Not just action, like some guys.”

“Um yeah, thank you. Not to be ungracious, of course. I owe Matthew a lot, and don’t get me wrong I loved it-“

“Of course,” Hugh nods in understanding. “I mean you sing though, right? Matthew mentioned.”

“Wow, yeah, I guess he talked me up.” Taron feels himself start to blush a little and shrugs.

Hugh shrugs back, smiling. “Just a little bit. Said we’d be good together.” 

Taron doesn’t know quite what to say. “Yeah! I sing, I mean not like you, but I do definitely skew more toward drama school than Die Hard.” 

Hugh raises an eyebrow. “Well me too. So this oughta be fun.”

***

It is, in fact, very fun. It’s an acting work out, bouncing off of Hugh. It’s stiff at first but in a totally normal way, and things loosen up rapidly once they do the first scene a couple of times. Hugh is naturalistic and open, and it seems like he’s mostly just being himself but with a weary American swagger. But then each time they break he perks up again, eager and engaged and twinkly and Taron realizes how much depth the other man is really layering into his performance.

There’s an aspect of him that reminds Taron slightly of Colin, the way he’s both engaged and at ease. Different versions of a very self-possessed masculine energy, only Hugh is all wide-open sunshine where Colin is a gracefully poised, breezy day. Taron wonders if it’s just maturity that they have in common. 

He feels the edge of something, a feeling he knows well but hasn’t put a name to. Something about Hugh’s groundedness with him today is making it easy to be self-aware without sliding into worry. So he turns the feeling over in his mind and waits for it to make itself better known. 

This happened with Colin too, of course. He might be star struck. Or crushing. He can admit that, he’s not dense and there’s nothing wrong with it, anyway. 

The more scenes they run, the more primed his whole nervous system gets toward Hugh, laser focusing on all his reactions. Acting with him feels like playing, and it’s really fucking fun. Plus, every time they break Hugh just shoots him these wordless looks of admiration like he’s blown away by every choice Taron’s making. They have to take a longer pause eventually, because Hugh keeps cracking up with delight whenever Taron tries out another Eddie thing.

“Sorry, it’s just really good. Do you wanna heighten it?” 

“Well if I heighten it you’re clearly going to lose it, so no.” He smirks and adjusts the glasses he’s worn for the day, sticking his chin out more and yeah, heightening everything anyway.

“The squint! Yes! How are you doing that?” At first, Taron suspects that maybe he’s just being kind, building him up so that the screen test goes well. But Hugh is just genuinely delighted, and it starts to give Taron a classic performer’s high. 

“Ok, it’s kind of a sad eye thing, like this,” And he takes his glasses off for a moment to show Hugh how he squints in a faintly mournful sort of way. 

“Yep, that’s it.” Hugh claps his hands, beaming. “God, you really look just like him.”

The validation washes over Taron and splashes messily over the top, he’s beaming right back at Hugh and laughing like a bit of a tit, honestly, trying not to be too obvious about the way the other man’s praise is hitting him. Then Matthew and Dexter both join in and start talking about how well the test has gone, and before Taron knows it the day is over, Hugh’s hugging him again and it’s time to go.

“So… I had a really nice time. Can I see you again?” Hugh jokes as their respective cars pull up outside the building. 

“Yeah, definitely call me,” Taron answers with a smile and wink, which gets Hugh absolutely guffawing as he turns away and waves over his shoulder. They’re going to do the movie together, that’s clear after today. Taron’s cheeks are sore from smiling so much. And that interesting feeling does one more quick lap around his nervous system.

***

He starts to build Eddie with the face and voice, and then the thick, coke-bottle glasses which thankfully stop giving him a headache after the first week or so, as long as he takes them off between takes. It’s very different from Kingsman in all the ways that Matthew suggested it might be, and of course he’s nervous in his usual way. Anxiety is just a baseline familiar state at the beginning of a shoot, kind of like being tired late at night or hungry before lunch. At the same time, movies are actually familiar now after Legend. Plus, he’s got a friend on this one.

Hugh is perhaps the nicest person he’s ever met. Table reads go well, rehearsals go better, and all the while Hugh keeps laughing and smiling, praising him, stoking and tending the fire of Taron’s confidence. Although he can make Hugh laugh pretty much effortlessly at this point, he starts to try for it intentionally on set, whenever he can get away with it. The payoff is addictive- Hugh is utterly transparent in his fondness for Taron. 

_Nice work today Eds_ \- Hugh texts him after their first day of shooting - a totally out of order, totally typical and disorienting shooting schedule that has them filming the climax of the movie before anything else. 

_**Thx, always weird out of order, right?**_ He’s reclining on his hotel bed, checking emails but always circling back to see if Hugh is typing. After a minute, dots appear.

 _Yeah but we nailed it. Raw talent can’t be stopped ;)_ Hugh uses ASCII emoticons, because of course he does. 

_**You text like a dad.**_ The level of excitement he feels at getting a text from Hugh is perhaps a bit on the high side, and he can recognize that.

 _I’m literally a dad_ Hugh texts back immediately, with a proper shrugging man emoji. 

_**Fair play. Nice work today yourself.**_ Taron stares at the screen for a while, watching Hugh’s dots blink again. Thinks about the scene that day, the way Hugh released him from their triumphant hug and then immediately, impulsively swept him up in another one. Dexter had declared it the best possible take. He thinks about texting Hugh something about that, about the hug, but it feels too specific.

Hugh’s dots disappear for a second, then reappear, then blip away again.

 _ **See you tomorrow**_ Taron types, then sends and instantly regrets it. Then gets judgemental with himself about why this matters so much to him, and then doubles down on that and judges himself a little more for not fully knowing what’s really going on with him, or his feelings or whatever. 

This is the kind of thing he’s spent years on in therapy, this kind of attachment. Not to get rid of it, just to work out what it means. He tries to just be mindful. It’s okay to feel like this, to like someone this much. He likes another man this much. There. Acknowledged.

 _Thanks mate- tomorrow we fly!_ The bump of adrenaline that Hugh’s text gives him sets off another little shame response, but it’s short-lived. Hugh likes him too, obviously. This is how new friendships work. It’s fine.

***

Observing Hugh’s energy, in character and out, continues to be a master class in confidence. The ease with which Hugh seems to go through life seems unreal at first, but the longer he studies it the more Taron thinks he understands it. He finds out through some conversations with Dexter that Hugh meditates every day. So that probably helps. He works like a madman preparing for scenes, utterly focused, and then just seems to relax and inhabit the moment once the cameras roll. 

Hugh is fortunate as hell, and to Taron’s eye he seems to have slightly more awareness of his privilege than most Hollywood actors his age. But mostly, because he’s a genuinely good, compassionate person who loves his job, Hugh is just… happy a lot. Of all the seriously famous people Taron has met so far, Hugh seems like he has the most capacity for joy. Taron wants to be near that, whenever possible. It’s thrilling and calming at the same time.

Except today it’s harder to be calm. 

“There is no _damn_ way I would ride a skateboard down this thing without being paid.” Taron stands at the top of the wooden ramp, hands on his hips, trussed up in a harness and fending off his uneasiness with his two favorite defenses -- camp posturing and sass.

“You’ve done wirework before Taron! This’ll be a snap, come on.” From behind the cameras, Dexter calls out in a supportive but slightly impatient tone. “Say something if you genuinely feel unsafe, but otherwise it’s time to strap up and go for it!”

“Yeah, strap up, Taron,” Hugh smirks teasingly and beckons for him to come down the ramp. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

“Fuck, alright. I’m ready.” He shakes his head. It’s just the low tech realness of the set up that’s making him nervous, the rough wooden ramp and the closeness of the lights, the rope harness. And Hugh standing expectantly at the bottom, waiting to catch him. “God I am so not Eddie.” He rolls his eyes. “Alright, let’s do this.”

He gets set up on the rolling scooter and then two very patient crew members release him so he coasts down the ramp directly at Hugh, over and over again. By the fourth time he’s actually in a more Eddie-like headspace, enjoying the ride a little bit. Hugh stops him each time with firm hands on his shoulders. 

“Okay, you ready for the lift?” Hugh looks him appraisingly in the eye and rubs his shoulders. He’s still half doing the American accent, which is kind of exciting although Taron couldn’t say exactly why.

“Yeah, ready.” 

Hugh claps him on both shoulders, fully in tough-love coach mode. “Alright then, let’s see you fly. I got you.”

This time instead of stopping him, Hugh plants his hands firmly at Taron’s waist just like they’ve rehearsed, and the harness pulls him upward until he’s above Hugh’s head, yelling like a loon. Hugh’s yelling with him, and then after they cut so is Dexter and then half the crew. 

“The strength of Hugh Jackman!” Taron proclaims with actual wonder. He can feel how Hugh is supporting a lot of his weight even though the harness could easily take it all. Must be for realism. Hugh sets him down gently as the harness team lowers him. And then they do it four more times, with the dialogue.

Taron changes his line reading slightly on the “little bit of wee” joke in the last take, and gets Hugh laughing so hard that he’s almost afraid of being dropped in spite of the rope. 

“Careful with me!” His arms pinwheel and he plants his hands on the backs of Hugh’s shoulders, the fingers of his right hand grazing down Hugh’s neck and settling just inside the back of his shirt collar.

When Hugh sets him down Taron pulls an Eddie face, trying for a laugh and it works. 

Hugh’s eyes twinkle and he raises a questioning eyebrow. “Bo Derek?” 

Taron nods emphatically. “Bo Derek, nailed it. Now have fun making orgasm noises for the next half hour, I’m taking a break.”

Hugh snorts. “No sweat. Come watch if you want, I’m gonna be ridiculous.” He pats Taron’s cheek, definitely not a slap, a light but _firm_ pat, and then turns and steers him gently by his shoulders and pushes him off toward the edge of the set.

Taron’s cheek tingles. He doesn’t walk so much as float away, the momentum of Hugh’s little push propelling him.

He does come back, after taking five with Dexter’s blessing. 

Hugh does a few different takes, each one more howling and over the top than the last. It’s funny, not sexy, obviously. It’s a joke. It’s just that Taron’s heart is still pounding from the ramp stuff. His cheek feels hot where Hugh touched it _-slapped it-_ his brain supplies, which is not true, it was just a surprise which he didn’t mind at all, and he’s still processing it. 

And Hugh’s not holding back in this scene, it’s loud and full-bodied and hard to look away from, hard not to keep hearing his roaring voice echo after every take. Taron finally has to walk away, because he can’t focus on what’s next in the shooting schedule. He’s preoccupied with the way Hugh’s legs are positioned, spread wide in vintage denim. 

When he wanders away from set again, he goes to find a bottle of water and forces himself to acknowledge, again, that this is obviously a crush. And not the first that he’s had on an older man. He knows it’s his way of feeling safe, latching onto a male friend who can protect him and validate him. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about this, actually, and can easily acknowledge it and then put it aside. That’s what he tells himself while pounding a liter of Gerolsteiner. Hugh is objectively attractive. He likes Hugh, Hugh likes him, and everything he’s feeling is fine.

***

They do the rest of the training montage over two more days, with an outline and some marks to hit and no dialogue. It’s the most fun he’s ever had at work, just fucking around with Hugh, jumping over things unsuccessfully and making up jokes as they go, knowing most of the audio will be overdubbed with dialogue or covered with music.

They’ve been filming outside all afternoon, Taron perched up on a wooden crate in his usual swamp-green spandex number with Hugh standing below in Peary’s minimal jeans and long-sleeved shirt, not even a hat to keep him warm. “God I wish I had a suit like that,” Hugh eyes him enviously. “I’m freezing. You’re probably toasty warm, right?” 

“Sure, but I look like a pudgy cocktail olive.” 

Hugh makes a show of checking him out, head to toe, then shrugs. “Look pretty cute to me.”

“This is cute? I feel like Boris Johnson in this hairpiece today, this is never cute.” He wrinkles his nose a bit more than his usual Eddie face to prove it.

“Nah, you’re adorable. Those rosy cheeks, come on. You wanna jump down?” Hugh half opens his arms as if to catch him. “Come to poppa!”

“Cheeky!” Taron goes camp for a second, then jerks his head directing Hugh to back up. “I’m a grown man, I’ve got this.” He jumps and sticks the landing. “Spiderman!! Nailed it.” And then promptly slips and falls on his arse. Hugh doubles over laughing.

Taron thinks he could spend all day every day doing this, just making Hugh happy. He’d be content. Dexter calls a wrap on the day. Hugh helps him up, hand on Taron’s shoulders as they walk toward the trailers to warm up.

“Listen, you want to get a drink tonight? If you’re not too tired, I mean.” 

Hugh’s hand drifts slightly lower on Taron’s back. It’s miles above anywhere inappropriate, miles, but at a decidedly lower and more intimate latitude than Taron would have expected from, say, Dexter. Or any other male coworker. He leans into it experimentally. Turns to look at Hugh, and finds himself being studied intently.

“I…” Then Hugh’s hand gently leaves its place on his back, and his heart dips in disappointment, and suddenly it’s all too much. “I am tired, actually. Sorry. Another night?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Hugh nods, flashes him a trademark grin. “Nice work again.” 

Taron watches Hugh saunter away across the snow. He can’t spend another two months of shooting feeling all this stuff, while also pretending not to feel it. It takes too much energy spinning both plates, and it’s a fantasy anyway, it’s not even real. If it were real, he tells himself, then there would maybe be a point in figuring out what the hell his feelings actually mean.

Luckily, it’s not real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written anything in basically a decade. So... this is kind of a wild experience! This movie and the press tour for it made me so damn happy though, and I wanted to do something creative that might make some other folks happy during these messed up times. I think this will have three chapters or so, and it'll definitely hit that E rating by the end. If anyone wants to contribute a Brit pick/Aussie pick or offer a general beta read on future chapters, I would be so grateful! I'm very much out of the loop in fandom, so I don't have a hook up for editing pals right now.
> 
> For readers who are reassured by a preview of themes and content (thematic spoilers ahead): this story is going to be a happy romp with only the lightest of angsty moments, some totally consensual, ethical nonmonogamy and some really chill, playful kink. The closest thing to conflict is just going to be Taron gently grappling a little with sexual orientation questions, and it'll basically just be a queerer, fictional version of his real-life, non-toxic millennial approach to male affection.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron realizes his mouth is hanging open a little bit, and he’s still just blinking.  
> Hugh fancies him. He may have just received that information. 

They’re shooting in the bar the next week, and the number of actors and angles and extras and props means things are going at a glacial pace. While the crew resets between takes, Taron gives his eyes a much-needed rest from the glasses and just talks with Hugh at the corner of the bar. It’s easy, like always, because Hugh is being charming and focusing on him and only him. They’ve been talking about bands and music, which is when Taron suddenly remembers that Hugh has worked with Bowie. That spins them off into a whole other world of Taron just gushing all his fanboy feelings about David Bowie, and Hugh patiently sits there and nods and smiles and soaks it up. Taron finally forces himself to shut up.

“Thanks for listening to my extensive Ted Talk-slash-valentine.” He rolls his eyes, even as Hugh is shaking his head in dismissal.

“Nah, no worries man. I’m excited we’ve got some music in common. Which is such an old person thing to say? Talking to you makes me feel ancient sometimes though, I’m always worried I’m going to sound like some kind of lecturing grandad if we’re talking about anything culture or work-related, honestly. It’s nice to just listen.” He reaches for Taron’s glasses on the bar and holds them out in front of his face, peering experimentally through the thick lenses. “Oof, your eyes doing okay?”

“Yeah, honestly I’m used to it now.” Taron watches Hugh examine the lenses for smudges and then untucks the hem of his shirt and uses it to carefully polish them. He wants to say thank you but also doesn’t want to draw attention to what Hugh’s doing because he _loves_ that Hugh is for some reason cleaning his glasses for him and if he says “Thank you for cleaning my glasses” out loud, his voice will absolutely betray how much he loves it. 

So yeah. He has not been entirely successful in his efforts to relax about Hugh. On any level.

“You don’t have to worry about that stuff. I wouldn’t mind a lecture, actually.” 

He smiles like it’s a joke, but he would deeply love to have Hugh teach him something, give him direction. “You know I like notes.” It’s not that he’s seeking information. Taron knows what appeals to him most -- he’s chasing the feeling, the relationship, more than any specific wisdom.

But Hugh won’t oblige. “I couldn’t begin to tell you what you’re supposed to do, man. You’re already doing it. And it’s different, anyway. I’ll talk acting with you anytime, you know that. But the business? It’s totally different now for somebody starting out. And you’re different- I mean, I was married around your age, doing tv and musicals and struggling to land a film and here you are, already got an action franchise-”

“Really, you were married?” Taron guesses it makes sense. A lot of people get married in their twenties. 

“Really?” Hugh does the Eddie thing, not teasing, just because it’s his favorite. 

Taron echoes it again just to indulge him. “Reeeally? Sorry, that’s a weird thing to ask, of course you were. I know that.” He knows Hugh’s married, knows how happy they are. “I’d love to meet her. Deborah, right?” 

“Yeah, Deborah.” Hugh is quiet, smiling fondly. And then he looks at Taron calmly and says, as though it’s nothing, “I've told her all about you, you know. What you’re like, how funny you are. She was just saying again last night how great you sound.”

“You described me to your wife?” Taron’s eyebrows float up with the question, he’s not displeased but he can’t imagine why Hugh’s wife would have been… evaluating his greatness. “Cool.”

“Yeah, I like to check with her early on. Whenever I meet someone.” Hugh shrugs, smiling one of his extremely wholesome, pure smiles. And suddenly Taron is, just like that, truly and utterly out of his depth.

“Meet someone.” He blinks nervously and then tells himself not to blink nervously.

“Well yeah.” And then Taron watches as Hugh does this amazing thing, oscillating from one second to the next between his normal, absurdly high levels of confidence and what looks almost like bashfulness. “I mean, I like you. I like this. A lot.” And he gestures back and forth between them. 

Taron feels his eyes widen, tries to stay cool. _This_. 

Hugh’s still talking, he’s got some momentum now. “We’re open, Deborah and I. It works really well for us. And I thought I should say something. I wanted you to know, in case anything had been confusing. Just so you understand how things work for me.”

Taron just blinks.

Hugh observes this… and then scrubs his hand at the back of his neck, taking a deep breath. “Well, shit. I meant to bring this up differently.” He looks away, puffing self-deprecating laughter and then meets Taron’s eyes again. “Let’s talk later, okay? Not at work. Uh, if you want. Or not, either way is okay, sincerely.” He stands then, pats the edge of the bar business-like with his hand and moves off toward a nearby PA, waving for her attention.

Taron realizes his mouth is hanging open a little bit, and he’s still just blinking.

Hugh fancies him. He may have just received that information. 

He blinks again. Peering across the room, he spies Hugh watching him with interest and a shade of concern, so he exaggerates his own stunned face, then mimes shaking it off and recovering his composure. 

Hugh’s expression softens into relief and he laughs. Taron grins at him and gives a thumbs up, self-conscious but happy at least to have been entertaining in this moment of absolute what-the-fuck. Hugh shoots him a look of chagrin and mouths “sorry” at him with an exaggerated grimace. Taron shakes his head as if to say _it’s nothing, don’t worry._ Hugh rolls his eyes, waves him off, and then he’s being called away and his focus shifts away from Taron. 

Taron blinks. 

Fuck.

***

And then of course they don’t have any more shots together for the rest of the night. Of course. Taron actually doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, because he’s too busy racing wildly through a sexual panic. Or maybe a failure-of-bisexuality panic. Fuck.

See, ok, he’s been through this, oh, maybe a dozen times. With old school friends, a couple of mates more recently, and then a colleague or two. Notably on Kingsman, but he simply forced himself not to think about it at the time. All the feelings are flooding up now though, the mix of anxiety and utter frustration, all of it, because it’s happening again and he can't make sense of it.

He just clicks with other guys sometimes, clicks so perfectly that he’s been absolutely _sure_ he must be bi, or something, more than once. And that would be fine, but then when the time approaches to actually do something about it, things never feel quite right. It turns out he doesn’t want the sex part that much when push comes to shove. Sex is more than “clicking,” and it never feels the same when he thinks about men compared to being with women. It’s like he keeps trying to strike a match, but it just won’t light.

He knows the difference between romance and attraction. Sometimes he suspects that maybe he just falls in love with men and that’s how his heart works, or something. Which is frustrating as hell and answers none of his questions about what to do about this Hugh thing, so why is he even thinking about it. 

He wishes he could ask someone. He imagines texting Colin, “Remember when I clearly fancied you and we never talked about it? Any theories about that?” He thinks about Matthew and his glasses, intimidating and brilliant and thank god, so fond of Taron. Remembers how many times he stared at himself in the mirror during hair and makeup for Kingsman, looking for similarities between his face and Matthew’s and wondering if Matthew enjoyed it, how they looked a little bit alike with the glasses. Wondering the same thing about Colin. Wondering if either of them thought he was handsome, and thinking about how Colin was old enough to be his dad, and Matthew just barely so.

On the way back to the hotel that night, he thinks about Hugh’s hands, spanning across his hips and holding him up in the air. Hugh’s strong arms, his long legs like pillars, supporting them both completely.

In his room, undressing for bed, Taron catches himself in the mirror. He looks more like a normal person these days instead of an action star. He looks nice, he thinks. He runs a hand across his soft yet solid chest, the light dusting of hair in the center. He tries to imagine what Hugh might think. Imagines the differences between their bodies; not critically, just curious. 

Then he realizes he doesn’t have to imagine, and grabs his phone and does a shameless youtube search. He finds a shirtless scene from _Australia_ , which he’s never seen, and pauses it to just stare for as long as he wants. Hugh’s chest is fucking unreal. He’s also wet, which is just gratuitous. Actually the whole scene is basically a joke about how insanely hot Hugh is, and he’s doing this squinty eyebrow thing that says that he _knows_ how hot he is, and is privately very amused. 

Hugh has more chest hair than Taron. There’s this vein that runs down his abs and past his waistband. 

Taron starts to get hard after a few moments, but it takes another minute or so of rewinding and pausing and replaying before his hand finds its way to his dick, and another minute before he starts to actually move it. In the end, he drops the phone on the bed, pressing his free hand against his mouth to muffle his own noises as he comes, hips snapping hard through the waves that wash over him.

Okay. 

“Okay.” Saying it out loud to the empty room helps a little bit.

It feels good to admire Hugh because he clearly admires Taron back. And his body is completely off the rails. But there’s something else, too, the most important part. Taron’s muscles are still twitching softly, rhythmically with the echo of his orgasm. 

He tries to imagine what he would want from Hugh if he were here in the room. He falls asleep sprawled out on the bed, thinking about strong arms holding him down. Or just holding him.

He wakes up an hour later when his phone buzzes next to him.

 _Could I stop by in the morning? I promise coffee_.

Taron has no idea what to type, it’s too embarrassing in his current state. So he sends a thumbs up and pulls himself up off the bed to get his shit together.

When he’s done showering and doing a pass at tidying the suite, he checks his phone again.

_9 ok?_

He sends two thumbs up this time. There are dots while Hugh types a response, then they disappear. 

This is real, Taron thinks. He types.

**_Looking forward to it- cream and 2 sugar plz_ **

Hugh immediately sends back three thumbs up. _Thanks, glad to hear that! Will bring coffee per your specs_

Taron sends back four thumbs up.

Hugh sends a gif of himself winking and giving a thumbs up. 

**_Your texting skills have leveled up_** Taron types, smiling to himself in his hotel room and feeling slightly giddy.

_I try._

Taron waits for more but nothing else appears. **Night** , he texts back, and falls asleep with his phone in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta force myself to stop editing this thing, so I'm posting this short section to get it out of my google docs and into the world. I am so very happy to get constructive feedback.
> 
> If you enjoy this and you're so inclined, please leave a comment or kudos because it would light up my freakin' world. Or say hi on Tumblr where I am @its-a-soft-science. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh leans in, and just before their lips graze together he stops, murmuring, “Gonna kiss you, alright?”

Taron knows it’s four minutes after nine when Hugh knocks on his door in the morning. He’s been watching the clock. He makes himself take two deep breaths before going to answer it.

Hugh’s wearing a knitted ski pullover and jeans and looks cozy and handsome. When he extends one of the two coffees he’s holding, Taron is only mildly surprised by a soft, slow wave of _wanting_ that washes over him. The reality of everything is fearfully crisp, immediate in that rare way that only happens in certain moments, with certain people. Taron feels his own pulse in his fingertips.

Hugh is smiling. “Hi,” he says. And Taron can’t help but smile back.

After a beat, Hugh clears his throat. “Sorry, could I come in?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Taron moves aside and lets Hugh in, pushing down all the feelings from the night before that are bobbing to the surface now that Hugh is solid and real in the room. It’s hard to forget though. He’d wondered how this would feel, having Hugh actually in front of him. 

Sun streams in through the window at the end of the room, and Taron considers leading Hugh over to the arrangement of chairs in the suite’s blandly styled sitting area. They could sit, talk, pick up where they’d left off— except he hasn’t really figured out what to say yet. 

Hugh stands a bit awkwardly, still smiling but noticeably tense. “So, I’m really sorry.” 

It’s impossible to know what to say next. The idea of Hugh coming in with regrets, before they’ve even talked at all, throws Taron off.

“Okay...” He tries for calm, curious. “What for?” 

“I mean last night, on set. I thought maybe we were on the same page, but I screwed up.” 

Taron takes a cautious sip of coffee to cover his growing worry.

“And…” Hugh pushes on, “Well, I hate to think I might have made you uncomfortable.”

“You honestly didn’t, it’s okay. I was just surprised, really.”

“I thought maybe you were interested in me.” A tiny shrug, and Hugh rolls his eyes as though that’s an arrogant and ridiculous notion. “And, you know, I wanted to be clear about how things work for me, but I’m actually pretty bad at talking so I think I just came off like some creepy swinging dad who—”

“No, not creepy! So far from creepy, mate, it’s okay.” Taron curses himself and his current inability to just be direct, especially when he finally actually has some sense of what he fucking wants. 

“I took the time to actually google you last night…” Hugh chuckles,“like anyone with half a clue, and you’re straight, and clearly this isn’t the kind of thing...” He breathes a huge sigh. “Geez, you’d think I’d be better at this.”

“Mate, you’ve got it wrong.” Taron sighs in exasperation. “You think I’d be better at this! You’re fine, really.” 

“ _You’re_ fine,” Hugh counters, gracious to a fault. “You’re being extremely fucking awesome. Especially right now. Thank you for understanding. Listen, do you mind if we just forget about this?” He’s looking at Taron with gratitude, relief even. 

Not okay. Taron needs to turn this around immediately.

“I’m interested.” 

There.

Hugh’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Taron swears it’s like the sun just came out from behind a cloud, the way Hugh’s face brightens. 

“Wai— wait. Yeah?” Hugh actually stutters, then immediately scoffs self-consciously at his own eagerness.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t joke.”

Hugh shakes his head for a moment, quietly. And then smiles. “You don’t get it. I’m not like this normally.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’m fucking _nuts_ about you.” 

They just look at each other for a second, and Taron tries not to laugh because it’s not a joke; this matters. But after a moment of quiet, they both start to break just a little, and then they’re both just cracking up. It just feels so intensely fucking good, dwelling in this state of giddy mutual adoration with each other. Taron sways closer, but doesn’t close the distance between them yet. He’s not sure how to do it. It doesn’t seem possible. 

And then Hugh brings things to order, clearing his throat in a business-like way. “Okay. So you’re interested. Well, excellent.” 

Taron nods, biting his lip again, trying for earnest. “Yes.” 

Hugh squints. “Really, though?” He scowls. “I mean not to be rude, but the internet seemed pretty clear—”

“Yeah, well…” Taron sighs in mock resignation and gestures with a shrug toward Hugh. 

Hugh nods in understanding. “But it’s Hugh Jackman. Riiight.”

He smirks then, and steps past Taron to set his coffee down on the dresser, letting his arm brush against Taron’s as he leans past. Taron notices, and he can smell him, something clean and forest-y with vanilla or bourbon or something, some kind of millionaire-movie-star soap. He seeks Hugh’s gaze as the taller man draws back. 

“Just to be clear. I _have_ definitely thought about it before. But I haven’t...” He reaches out and plucks lightly at the arm of Hugh’s pullover. “I haven’t before. With a man.” 

Hugh’s inhale is small but audible.

Taron musters on. “It feels different with you. I want you.” He breathes. “Alright, that’s new to say. Thank you for that. That... is something I just recently sorted out.” Finally. Mostly. Fuck. 

He’s blushing furiously now, and pulling at Hugh’s jumper pretty mercilessly without being able to stop until Hugh clasps his hand in his. It’s warm, strong. Large. Larger than his, that’s significant.

Hugh’s thumb strokes over his fingers and he steps in a bit closer, so they’re nearly chest to chest. 

“Okay, how recently did you sort this out? Like, just now?” He takes Taron’s coffee from his hand and sets it down safely on the dresser next to his own, then rests his knuckles against Taron’s sternum, dragging slowly downward as he speaks, rubbing at Taron’s solar plexus through his T-shirt. “I’m not interested in rushing.”

Breathing feels different, this close to Hugh. It’s like each inhale fills him with a giddy warmth. Christ, how is _breathing_ sexy? “Okay, your voice actually _rumbles_ , are you aware of that?” 

The air from Hugh’s amused exhale puffs softly at Taron’s hairline, because Hugh is fucking six-foot-two and Taron has never in his adult life felt smaller. It is the opposite of a problem. It actually seems like part of what’s making this work.

“Yeah, I’m aware.” Hugh ducks his head, gently bumping his forehead against Taron’s. Taron leans into it.

“And you’re okay with that?” He knows he’s being slightly bratty. It feels liberating, something he’s not exactly allowed to do with women. 

“ _You_ seem to be pretty okay with that.” 

More than okay. He feels lightheaded. Taron swallows and then runs his hands up Hugh’s arms, letting himself actually, openly appreciate the solid contours of his biceps, the frankly absurd width of his shoulders. “It’s a recent, um, discovery, yeah. Wow, you’re _quite_ fit.” 

Hugh laughs softly at that, hands falling gently onto Taron’s hips. 

Taron goes for broke, turning his face upward and willing Hugh to see how much he wants to be kissed, how much he wants to try this. His heart is pounding in his chest now, as he teeters on the edge of this male intimacy he’s wondered about for so long. 

“I’ve really liked you for a while. Like, the whole time.”

Hugh leans in, and just before their lips graze together he stops, murmuring, “Gonna kiss you, alright?” 

Taron gives a tiny, eager nod, and then Hugh’s lips press softly against his. After a moment he can feel the curve of Hugh’s forming smile and he hums softly into the kiss in a way that vibrates in Taron’s chest. 

Hugh gently pulls him in with an arm around his waist, and the small noise of need Taron makes is mortifying. 

Hugh huffs laughter into their kiss. “You okay, kid?” he murmurs against Taron’s lips, teasing, checking in. It’s absolutely something Peary would say, which Taron feels just slightly embarrassed about enjoying.

“Um, I’m okay,” he says, and it comes out as a cracked little whisper. This is fucking ridiculous. “Also, _kid_?” He aims for sounding irritated, but it comes out breathless and he sighs into Hugh’s mouth.

“Yeah. You’re just a kid,” Hugh murmurs. It’s almost an aside. He brings his hand to Taron’s face and kisses him again, lips parting now, tongue seeking. 

Hugh’s words keep hanging in the air, though. Taron doesn’t quite know how to examine them under bright light, or why they feel so significant. He has never felt quite like this before in his life, and ideas start zipping through his brain and threaten to send him spiralling. Hugh’s charm, all the things that make him desperately appealing— taller, older, playful, _in control_ and so fucking kind. Why does it feel so perfect, and what does it mean about Taron that he just wants to lay down and let Hugh do whatever he wants? Why hasn’t it ever felt like this before?

Hugh’s hands shift at his waist, caressing, and the energy that has been quietly building in his whole body coalesces into a hot, sweet, aching tension that starts at his core and connects directly to his rapidly hardening cock. 

“Is this alright?” Hugh alternates kisses and more words, reassurances. “It’s okay to tell me.” He’s kissing along Taron’s jaw, dragging his stubble against Taron’s and Taron loves it, is shocked by how much he loves it, and turns his cheek to nuzzle into it in earnest. 

Hugh leans into it as well, humming again in appreciation as he tilts his hips forward. And Taron can feel a nudge, the stiff ridge of Hugh’s erection as it prods against his hip. 

It had not occurred to him that all of this is another excellent way to make Hugh happy. 

“Wow.” 

Hugh breathes a chuckle. “God, I like you too. I liked you the whole time too, you know?” He guides Taron’s chin back into a kiss, and Taron lets Hugh’s tongue move against his, lets himself be opened up and held with his chin tilted upward and his throat exposed, his whole body relaxing against Hugh’s larger frame. 

They kiss, and kiss, until it escalates and he finds himself biting a little at Hugh’s lower lip, breathing in the low noises Hugh makes in response, marvelling as everything just keeps building and getting better. He keeps waiting for it to just fizzle out the way it has in the past, but nothing feels odd, he’s not anxious or lost, thank God, for once. In fact he’s achingly hard now, rubbing slow and measured against Hugh’s thigh slotted between his own.

Meanwhile Hugh’s hands have been travelling, stroking Taron’s back and then settling just barely above his arse. Hugh is very clearly, very respectfully not grabbing his arse. 

“Will you grab my arse.” Taron states politely, mid-grind. “Please.”

“Sure,” Hugh laughs gamely against his neck and slides his hands downward, hell yes, and then suddenly Taron is being turned and maneuvered toward the nearby wall and picked up, hoisted up so he’s straddling Hugh’s hips and held with his back up against the hotel wallpaper.

“Oh! My god, ah— Jackman, you shit...!” He yelps in momentary panic, but Hugh swallows his words with another kiss that Taron gasps into, laughing and hanging on for life. It’s okay, Hugh’s got him, completely. And now he’s basically just trapped up in a tree that is this unrealistically hot, tall-as-fuck man. Taron reflexively locks his ankles together behind Hugh’s back to steady himself, and Hugh hitches him up slightly higher on the wall to grind against him at a better angle. 

All of it is so much better up here. He can’t do anything except hold on and _feel everything_ , just riding against the pressure of Hugh’s slow-rolling thrusts.

“This okay?” Hugh is kissing his neck, and it feels raw and scorching with the prickling drag of his stubble again. 

“Yes, shit— yes it’s okay, yes.” 

“Good, keep telling me.” Hugh bites him softly at the join of his neck and shoulder. “Seriously.”

“Ah, okay, fuck, it’s very okay.” His skin has never felt this sensitive, it’s like every part of him is _awake_. “It feels— it feels good. God you’re strong.” He’s hot all over, dizzy. The motion of Hugh’s hips is honey slow, unstoppable, and Taron lets his head fall back to scrub against the wall as he hitches up with every movement.

“Did you mean it?” Hugh’s voice cuts through the haze of pleasure. “Is this really your first time?” 

Taron laughs breathlessly and smacks him on the shoulder, hard. “Oi, with a _man_. First time with a _man_ , oh my god—”

Hugh’s got one hand under his shirt now, strong and restless and feeling him up in ways he didn’t realize would make him feel exactly this vulnerable. 

“It is though, right?” Hugh sounds casually charmed, maybe playing it off like he’s just curious. But there’s also a rough edge to his voice that rubs at something deep in Taron’s insides. 

This thing between them, the way Hugh takes charge but in such a sweet, obliging way. It’s starting to make more sense to Taron, the further they take it.

“Yeah,” Taron answers. “First time, really.” And then, testing the waters, feeling silly but inspired, needing to know, needing to hear Hugh say it— “You’ll take care of me, though. Right? Show me how?” And the rhythm of their next kiss falters.

There it is. Hugh tries to swallow the small, wounded noise that escapes him, kissing Taron again to cover his own reaction. Taron’s caught it though. 

“You like that,” he says softly. Not teasing or unkind, just making sure Hugh hears how pleased he is with this development. 

“Yeah,” Hugh breathes the grudging admission into the crook of his neck with an embarrassed laugh. “Is that… you don’t mind?” He keeps his face tucked and hidden there, his whole body stilling for a moment and just holding Taron up against the wall.

“Do I seem like I mind?” Taron jokes, nudging his face against Hugh’s ear to get his attention. Hugh looks at him then, still questioning. 

Taron swallows. “It’s… different. I think—” He pauses, then confesses in a rush. “I think I really fucking like it.” 

Hugh’s lips are back against his almost faster than Taron can register; heated, slow and smouldering and open-mouthed. Hugh shifts his grip and Taron gasps, the slight flex of Hugh’s muscles betraying just how easy it is for him to support Taron’s weight. Then he’s carrying Taron across the room and carefully setting him down on the edge of the bed. 

Hugh straightens to pull off his own top and toss it on the floor, while Taron reclines a little to watch, mouth open, wanting. 

“I got off right here last night,” he confesses as Hugh pulls his undershirt off over his head one-handed. “That looked nice, by the way.” 

“Yeah, I’ve practiced it, thanks.’ Hugh winks. “Last night? Before or after I texted you?” He drops gracefully to his knees at the bedside, finding a spot between Taron’s legs.

“Before. That’s how I—” And then Hugh runs his hands up Taron’s legs, and Taron reaches out to touch, to feel the length of Hugh’s strong fingers and the way they span across each of his thighs. 

He makes himself continue. “Um, I thought about you. The way you act with me.” Hugh smiles, and there’s a question in it so Taron tries to explain. “I told you, I like this.” He nods down at Hugh’s hands. “Liked it up there.” Jerks his head toward the wall. 

“Huh.” Hugh is still scrutinizing him, doing the math. “Why, because I put you there?”

Taron nods, catching his breath. “So, how much can you lift?” He flashes Hugh an innocent and winning smile, and yeah, Hugh is instantly delighted and laughing.

“Thought you didn’t care about that stuff.” His hands play at Taron’s waistband.

“I don’t.” He shrugs. “When it’s like this, though...” He looks down between them, where his knees enclose Hugh’s naked, fucking statuesque torso. He reaches out and touches Hugh’s chest, tentative at first. Hugh presses into it and leans forward for a kiss, giving Taron more access to run his palms across the flat planes of Hugh’s chest.

“Okay,” Hugh swallows. “Well.” Seems like talking might be beyond him at this moment, but then he rallies. “I bench about 230.” He strokes up Taron’s body, rucking up his shirt, exposing his nipples, toying with them lightly. Taron pushes into it, seeking the friction.

“And squat?” His voice is all innocence as he reaches up to caress Hugh’s face, rubbing a thumb at the corner of his lips.

“Jesus,” Hugh laughs openly, bites at his thumb. “You’re really— Um, 350.”

“The strength of Hugh Jackman!” Taron stage whispers like a stadium cheer. 

“You little shit,” Hugh laughs, shaking his head. “So you want… what, you want to be handled?”

Taron wants it so much, he knows his face must look tragic with need. He just nods, biting his lip. 

Hugh shrugs agreeably. “We can do that.” And then a light shove at Taron’s shoulders has him bouncing back to lay flat on the bed, and Hugh reaches to unbutton Taron’s fly. Taron immediately lifts his hips so Hugh can pull his trousers open and off. 

“Can I—” Hugh starts but then pauses, just breathing, furrowed brow, gathering himself. “I want to get my mouth on you.” 

“Yeah,” Taron whispers, knowing how thick and desperate his voice sounds. 

Hugh leans in to rub his face against Taron, mouthing at his erection through his briefs. It’s shocking, the heat feels incredible, and the tease of Hugh’s lips moving against his cock pulls a groan from Taron before he can contain it. 

“Anything. What do you want?” Hugh looks up at him now. “Tell me, alright? I’ll do what you want.”

“Mmm.” Taron keeps nodding. He’s never felt the sweet, heavy pull of building arousal quite like this before, balls already tight like he’s halfway to coming. His fingers go to Hugh’s hair, stroking through the shortest parts without purchase. “Yes. Yeah, fuck.” 

And then, because he wants to hear himself say it, “Take care of me.” He’s not even sure entirely what he means by it. But the way Hugh’s face changes is all the response he could have hoped for.

“I can do that.” He pulls Taron’s briefs down around his upper thighs, freeing his cock so it bobs up and bounces against his stomach. Rubs at Taron’s muscled legs, lowers his head to bite gently at the curve of his thigh. “Just wanna—” 

Taron actually kind of yells as Hugh’s lips close over the head of his cock. It’s so hot, so wet and is Hugh somehow _smiling_ around his dick? Like he loves it, like he cannot get enough of making Taron feel good. Nobody has ever been this happy to suck his dick, ever, and never before has a blowjob actually made Taron laugh out loud with delight. Hugh holds him down with one hand on his hip and uses the other to reach up and rove across Taron’s chest again, rubbing and circling at his nipples in turn. Taron just squirms, panting, looking down the length of his torso to try to see as much as possible and memorize it. 

Hugh hums around him, low and satisfied, and takes him deep, Christ, so deep right away, breathing Taron in with his nose almost nested in the neatly trimmed curls at the base of his cock. And Taron can’t rock up into it even the slightest bit because Hugh is effortlessly holding him down. He just has to keep taking it, letting himself brush and bump against the back of Hugh’s throat.

“Jesus fuck,” he grounds out, “let me— Hugh!”

Hugh pulls off his dick with a wet pop, breathless and amused. “Um, _what_?” 

Taron flops his head back on the mattress and laughs helplessly. “Oh my god I don’t know! Don’t stop!” 

Hugh grins and laughs with him. “You want to come?” he offers.

“I…” It would be so easy. Of course he fucking does, and Hugh would make it amazing, obviously. But there’s something he wants more, before that. He remembers the night before, that idea of strong arms holding him down. He considers his options. Then shakes his head, no.

“I want you to... handle me?” he says, and it comes out much softer and more questioning than he means it to. Taron could swear that he can see Hugh’s pupils actually dilate. “Like you said.”

“That’s good, yeah.” Hugh’s nostrils flare, and he climbs up onto the bed to grapple with Taron. 

“Oh god, help!” Taron yelps in pretty much equal parts peril and happiness, laughing and swatting at Hugh fruitlessly. Hugh’s got him pinned down at the shoulders in seconds, and no matter how much he wriggles, he’s not going anywhere.

Taron flails his legs, half like he wants to get free but mostly to kick his trousers the rest of the way off. Hugh’s legs tangle with his own and hold him in place.

“This okay?” Hugh smiles down at him, friendly, curious. 

“Yeah, fuck yes,” Taron stretches up to try for a kiss. Hugh gives it to him, but then pulls away, just far enough so that Taron can’t quite get their lips to meet. “Oh, _come_ on,” Taron whines and rocks his hips up.

Hugh nods in sympathy. “I know.” He hovers there, his smile no more than a few inches out of reach. “Ask for it.” 

“Please,” Taron says immediately. “Please let me.” Then he stops, and thinks about it as much as he’s able to through the haze of desire, and tries again. “Hold me. Hold me down and kiss me.”

And Hugh, bless him, does exactly that. His weight on top of Taron shifts so they can line up better, one of Hugh’s legs falling between Taron’s, the touch of his skin hot against Taron’s stomach where his shirt is pulled up. Hugh is braced up on one elbow, keeping his weight on Taron’s torso to keep him effectively pinned. It’s working; Taron makes a half-hearted attempt to sit up just to feel how much it’s definitely not going to happen. Hugh huffs a breath against his jaw, mutters “nope” and laughs quietly as Taron tries again anyway. 

He can’t make sense of why it feels so good to try something he doesn’t actually want to succeed at. Hugh feels immovable, like oak beams or steel or something, and Taron gradually figures out how to touch him without trying to move him. As long as he stays on his back and doesn’t try to shift Hugh’s weight off of him, Hugh lets him do whatever he wants with his hands. He lingers over the muscles in Hugh’s shoulders and back, lets his hands rise and fall with the movement of Hugh’s ribs as he breathes. He starts to drift a little, floating in a dreamy kind of state as the press of Hugh’s broad chest keeps him contained. He doesn’t have to do anything, just stay where he is and feel while Hugh does things to him. He feels like he could almost fall asleep like this, but the buzz of sensation keeps him present as it spreads to every part of his body. He’d have come already, couldn’t have helped it really, except there’s only Hugh’s thigh resting solidly between his legs to hold him down. He can’t even properly rub off against it, can only rock slightly against soft, worn denim. It feels like he’s wet, he can’t tell, he’s probably leaking all over and making a mess of Hugh’s jeans. Embarrassment hits him softly, sideways, in another wave of pleasure. He doesn’t care, and neither will Hugh. Hugh will probably love it, just like he seems to love every damn thing Taron does.

“God, I feel—” He wants Hugh to understand what’s happening, and pulls his lips away from the other man’s to try to get a few words out. “It’s so…”

“Yeah,” Hugh kisses him again, breathless, rolls his hips down against Taron’s and they both groan into the next kiss. 

“This is _so good_ ,” Taron tries to explain, but he can’t find any more words to make it clearer. Hugh’s nodding anyway as he teases at Taron’s lower lip, rubbing their noses together and planting soft kisses against the corner of his mouth. So maybe he already gets it. The warm, dizzying feeling is everywhere, from his toes to the tips of his ears, filling the air around them. “Hugh—”

 _“You’re good_ ,” Hugh whispers against his skin, quiet enough that he may not have even intended for Taron to hear it. It reaches his ears nonetheless, and Taron’s head spins. 

“Say that.” He utters it without thinking, brain on autopilot and the heat in his veins driving everything. Hugh’s free hand, the one that’s not involved in anchoring him to the bed, roams down across his abs and palms his cock where it rests, insistent and steely hard. The easy slide of Hugh’s fingers is confirmation, God, he’s a mess, and Taron moans and curves his back into the mattress, hips rising to fuck into Hugh’s hand as much as he can. “Fuck, say it.” 

“You’re good, you’re so good,” Hugh tells him, warm voice right next to his ear. “Come on.” He shifts his grip and it’s perfect, one pump, two—

—and then Hugh’s hand stills. 

Taron feels the space around him shift into exquisite focus as he breathes, panting, and twitches in Hugh’s hand. He turns his head and pushes his face into the crook of Hugh’s neck, eyes closed and nuzzling firmly against his skin as though he can get off that way. His thighs fall open as much as they can against the stretch of his briefs, still bunched around his legs like a soft restraint. He can’t do anything, can’t have anything he wants, but Hugh had said he could have anything he wanted, that’d he’d do anything Taron wanted.

“Fuck, please—” And then his one remaining functional synapse fires a hail mary pass of a signal, and he knows what to say. 

“Make me— Do it, move—” he doesn’t have to finish, Hugh’s hand is moving again, stroking him down to the base and then closing over the dripping head of his cock, rubbing over the ridge there, pulling a whine from Taron’s throat with quick strokes as he tips over the edge of release and starts to come. 

The noises spill out of him, he can’t stop. Hugh kisses his face and his jaw, and it just keeps rolling through him in waves. Hugh keeps going, pumping him dry and letting him rock with it now, and he still can’t keep quiet. “Fuck, fuck oh god—” His abdominal muscles are half cramping and burning with each pulse of pleasure, he winces and groans and simply can’t shut up, doesn’t want it to end.

Hugh slows, his hand wrapped gently around Taron’s dick to just hold him, loose and slippery as he twitches and half-thrusts, panting breathlessly on his back, floating. Hugh’s mouth finds his, and then Hugh’s shifting his weight off Taron’s shoulder just a bit, like he’s reaching for something with his free hand. Taron feels it then, Hugh gently wiping at the tears leaking slowly from the corners of his eyes.

“I’m okay,” Taron mumbles, turning into Hugh’s touch. “Just cry when I come, sometimes.” Not sometimes, really. Only when it’s good. Except… it’s never been good like this before.

Hugh doesn’t say anything, just touches his face some more. Taron doesn’t want to open his eyes yet, it’s enough just to feel the pounding of his own pulse against the lines of Hugh’s body.

Finally he weakly pushes Hugh’s hand off his dick, groaning and over-sensitive. Hugh just breathes more soft laughter and wipes his hand on his jeans.

Taron gazes at him, half knocked out with the heavy glow of his orgasm. 

“Fuck.” He feels like he’s run five miles. Hugh bends his head down and plants a kiss on his temple.

Taron lies there, eyes closed and grinning, and lets the room fade back into existence. He listens as Hugh gets to his feet and moves around the suite, runs the bathroom sink for a moment, then returns to the bedside.

Hugh pulls Taron’s briefs down from around his thighs, where they’ve no doubt been stretched to hell and maybe ruined. Fuck it. He drifts back into more alertness when the towel touches his skin, and he opens his eyes to watch Hugh clean him up, carefully wiping around his softening cock in a way that should maybe feel more awkward than it does.

He props himself up on one elbow to watch. Hugh glances at him, looking thoughtful but relaxed. 

“Hi. You alright?” He tosses the towel on the floor, out of the way.

“Oh hey,” Taron smiles, blinking. Bats his lashes, just for fun. Hugh snorts with laughter, and runs a hand up Taron’s calf. Does the squinty eyebrow thing, the face that says he one hundred percent knows how good he looks and finds it entertaining. 

Taron nods, his turn now to breathe laughter through his nose. He knows he must look a sight, reclining on the bed in nothing but his rucked-up mess of a T-shirt, legs splayed, soft cock resting on his thigh. He can’t be brought to care, though. “Yeah, mate. I’d say I’m alright.”

Hugh studies him, head tilted in quiet assessment. His eyes are soft, his hand rubbing absently over his own chest. 

“What do you want now?” He keeps his hand on the curve of Taron’s leg, circling his thumb back and forth. 

Taron just shakes his head in wonderment. “You... are a fucking danger.” He slides a hand down to touch his own chest, mirroring Hugh. Hugh’s eyes follow the movement and his lips part, hungry for it. 

Taron takes in the set of Hugh’s legs, the obvious bulge in his jeans. “Could you take those off?” 

He still feels a little spacy, buzzing and languid on the other side of coming. Hugh squeezes his leg once, then nods and gets to his feet to take his jeans off. As he rises Taron moves as well, sitting up at the edge of the bed so that Hugh’s crotch is at his eye level. 

Just sitting up clears his head a bit more. He’s uncoordinated, still shedding the last of the post-orgasm haze. But Taron manages to push Hugh’s hands away and take over, opening his fly for him, pushing the denim out of the way to reveal charcoal gray cotton underneath.

He traces the outline of Hugh’s cock through the briefs. It’s easily bigger than Taron’s, longer, which he expected. Maybe just slightly thicker. He listens to Hugh’s breathing quicken as he runs his fingers up and down the length, learning the shape.

When he moves Hugh’s briefs down and out of the way, he pauses. “I want to try. Want you to show me.” 

“Taron.” Hugh’s voice is even, but just barely. “Are you—” 

And then Taron’s just leaning in, pressing his face against the blazing hot skin of Hugh’s shaft, rubbing his cheek against the silky hardness and then kissing Hugh’s hip, eyes falling closed. He basks in the feeling, the tension of feeling so safe and so wildly out of control at the same time.

“Fuck, look up at me. Ah, fuck—” Hugh hisses out, wrecked. Taron does as he’s told, glances up at Hugh and keeps nuzzling against his hardness, pressing it up against Hugh’s belly and just breathing in against it. 

“Yeah?” The wetness at the tip smears against his cheekbone and he watches Hugh’s expression turn almost pained. 

“Take it slow,” Hugh says, low and flat with need.

“Nah, don’t want to.” Not after what they’ve already done. Not at this point, now that Hugh has already taken him apart so thoroughly. He turns and sucks at the head of Hugh’s cock, exploring with his tongue, finding the sharp flavor to match the scent. The taste sparks something, a sensation that runs through his whole body, anchoring him in the moment. 

He curls a hand at Hugh’s hip to steady himself. Then he reaches with the other for Hugh’s hand and positions it against his own cheek, leaning into the older man’s palm while he rests his lips softly against the head of Hugh’s cock. And waits. He wants to be held back, made to go slow. He wills Hugh to comprehend. Hugh is still for a moment but then exhales in a rush, understanding what he’s meant to do.

“Alright, just—” Hugh pauses, breathing deeply. When he speaks again there’s a new firmness in his voice, layered over his usual warmth. Taron casts his eyes upward, finds Hugh’s eyes and checks in. Hugh is just barely holding it together, chest rising and falling with each rough breath. His eyes are twinkling with— what is it? 

“Let’s take it slow,” he growls out, and he’s _happy_ , Taron hears it now, without a doubt. Hugh’s proud of him. He feels his cock actually twitch at that, and yeah, okay, this is something he may really need to examine in more depth later on. In the meantime Hugh is stroking his cheek, running a thumb along his jaw.

Then Hugh gently, carefully pushes Taron’s mouth open and nudges the head of his cock against Taron’s slack lips, smearing them with the fluid welling at the tip. Taron darts his tongue out to taste again, and Hugh groans softly above him. 

Taron leans forward, eager, ready to take more, but Hugh stops him, holds him in place. “Slow.”

Taron makes a noise he’s not proud of and then closes his eyes and goes still again. 

“Perfect,” Hugh murmurs. Taron joins his fingers with Hugh’s, licks his lips, opens his mouth wider but stays passive and lets himself get fucked, shallow and slow. 

Everything is quiet and focused and Taron can feel his heart pounding through his whole body. He tilts his head, baring his throat as much as he can and curving his tongue around the underside of Hugh’s thickness. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, if this even passes as a blowjob. Hugh likes it though, from the sound of his deep, forceful breathing that shakes just slightly on each exhale. He loves it. Taron can feel the quivering restraint on each gentle push across his lips. 

Hugh relaxes his hold on Taron’s jaw and lets him turn his head a bit more so the next thrust prods against the inside of his cheek, rounds it out in a way that Taron hopes looks as good as he wants it to. Hugh gently rocks into his mouth a little more, his thumb grazing the stretch of Taron’s cheek, tracing the shape in soft circles, his breathing going just a bit quicker.

Taron darts a glance upward again and catches Hugh’s eyes with a question, asking permission. 

The hand on his jaw goes so gentle in answer, slides to the back of his neck and pets his hair. Taron takes his chance and slides his lips down the shaft as far as he can go. It’s not fucking far but Hugh grunts in response, guttural, so Taron brings a hand up, spits into it, and starts working at it with his fingers and mouth together. 

“Fuck.” Hugh’s losing it. “Taron—” His hands settle on Taron’s shoulders like he’s placing them there for safekeeping, and his hips snap forward once, sudden. “Ah—”

Taron tries to make it wetter, speeds up a little, feels Hugh’s cock swell and jump in his hand, pulse on his tongue, and then he pulls off and turns his cheek as Hugh shoots across his face and neck. He can’t quite believe it’s actually happening, someone’s _coming_ on his face, Jesus, Hugh is coming on his _face_ — and his mouth falls open again of its own accord, half from arousal and half just wanting to take what Hugh’s giving him. He turns back again to kiss at the pulses, rubbing the head of Hugh’s still hard cock over his lips and tasting the last of Hugh’s orgasm as it wanes. 

Hugh just breathes for a minute, swaying above Taron. And then he’s stroking Taron’s face, his fingers shaking. 

“Hey…” He guides Taron’s mouth away from him and then sinks down carefully, joints popping just a tad as he kneels at the bedside between Taron’s legs again. He tucks himself neatly into his jeans, unselfconscious, then tugs at Taron’s T-shirt where it’s ridden up and lifts it to wipe the mess from Taron’s skin. 

He just looks at Taron for a moment… then leans in and kisses him with soft, dazed laughter. 

“Hey, that was so _good_. You’re— you okay?”

Taron doesn’t have the words, so he kisses an affirmation into Hugh’s mouth.

“You’re so good,” Hugh tells him again, between kisses, and the praise washes through Taron with a heat that feels familiar now. He so wants to hear it again. 

“Was it okay?” He murmurs against Hugh’s cheek, still out of breath. That’s not what he really wants to know. Hugh understands, bless him.

“You’re brilliant.” The admiration and joy in Hugh’s voice is plain as day. And then, hesitating, “You were good. For me.” It’s just shy of being a question. It seems to be as much about what has happened between them as it is about Hugh’s right to say such a thing, or to claim that kind of ownership over Taron’s actions. And the idea of it feels so deeply true to Taron that he’s even less capable of speaking to it. It’s overwhelming, and he just nods, again and again, and kisses Hugh more.

Hugh responds, tongue searching and prying into Taron’s mouth with hunger— tasting himself, Taron realizes, and hums happily into it. Hugh hums back at him, playful. 

Then he pushes at Taron’s knees. “Shove over.” 

Taron uses his only available ounce of energy to push himself up fully onto the bed, rolling into the middle to make room as Hugh lays down next to him. They’re sprawled out haphazardly, diagonal and mismatched in their partial nudity.

It’s been maybe an hour since Hugh came into the room. Their coffee is probably still warm.

Taron flops his head to the side to look over at Hugh, who unsurprisingly is grinning like an idiot. And then even though his jaw is tired and his cheeks are literally sore from smiling, Taron can’t help but laugh. 

Hugh raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Yeah?” 

“Fucking… yeah!” He’s so happy. So blazingly exhausted and so happy. 

“Yeah. Alright.” They’re both just giddy now, half breathing, half laughing. “I’m stoked too.”

Taron swallows. “I’ve never done that kind of thing before.”

“Oh, I know. Remember, you told me.” Hugh rolls his eyes good naturedly.

“No no,” says Taron, “I mean. It’s never been like that.” He finds that looking Hugh in the eye and saying it isn’t nearly as embarrassing as he feared. “The way you treat me-”

“I know what you mean.” He plays absently with Taron’s hair, runs a thumb across his cheekbone. Taron leans into it. “Is that what you thought would happen?”

He considers. “I think... it’s what I hoped would happen.”

“Cool.” Hugh smiles. “Me too, I think. You want more?”

Taron raises an eyebrow. “Guess.”

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, I finished it! Thank you for reading, and thank you for the comments which are a huge source of positive feelings for me. Seriously, the comments. Thank you.  
> I'm feeling really good about being back in the game, and also feeling really welcomed by all the lovely folks in this fandom and neighboring fandoms. :) Thanks for supporting a rusty writer come out of retirement, I'm looking forward to writing some more again soon.
> 
> Thank you so much to [heavensfallingallaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) and [phoenix_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordwen/pseuds/phoenix_rose) for the beta support, brilliant suggestions and editing on chapter three. Any mistakes left in here are my own.
> 
> I'm [its-a-soft-science](https://its-a-soft-science.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come find me and say hi if you like!


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